The four times Sherlock kissed Joan (and the one time she did first)
by FrancescaBoscorelli
Summary: The titles says it all, basically. Joan/Sherlock fluff and kisses. R/R.


**A/N**: hello you guise! I'm back! yay! First of all, thank you for reading and reviewing my stories, you have no idea what it means to me. THANK YOU. Second, I wrote most of this story on my phone and it took me a while to finish it because I've been totally busy with my thesis (actually I took a small break right now, I should be writing it! shh don't tell anyone) and I also have a job so, yeah took me FOREVER, but now its done! yay!. Also I want to say thank you to Lily **EuphoriaLily** who is the coolest most awesome girl ever. THANK YOU LILY I LOVE YOU

Now off to read y'all!

and don't forget to review!

Fran

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1- Sleeping beauty.

It was late at night, Joan had been reading this hideous murder case for hours and she was slowly zoning out. Not to mention each time she read another page her mind got stuck into grossing images of corpses and there was absolute no fun in that.

Now her tired body lay on the empty couch, half of her body was covered with Sherlock's old blanket and the other with her red sweater. She was only meant to sleep for a while though, maybe rest her eyes before continuing with her reading, she never expected to drift into a peaceful dream.

She couldn't actually recall Sherlock walking in, or the door closing behind him, but she could indeed feel his cologne very near her. His hand barely touched her shoulder in an attempt of waking her up, apparently her eyes had mind of their own because they refused to open. He insisted and then his touch was replaced by a whisper.

"Watson." he spoke. "Watson wake up. It's late, you should be in your room. Hey, come on."

Her eyes opened gradually, she noticed suddenly and unexpectedly that he was only a few inches away from her. His dark blue eyes penetrated her soul.

"What?" she whispered, turning slightly away so she was lying on her back. She was still half asleep but not asleep enough to ignore the warmth of his body close to hers.

"I was saying you should go to your room, it's late and you're going to be very sore in the morning." he told her.

"Yeah…" was all that she managed to say.

"Do you want me to take you?" he suggested. Joan eyed him with confusion. He wanted to pick her up and take her to her room, in his arms.

"I can walk." she responded quickly, but she was still very much still.

"Fine."

She didn't quite know how it happened. She could stop to think about it, maybe in the next days or weeks, but not the moment it happened. She was confused by it because one minute she was about to get up and go to her room, and the next Sherlock had his hands softly pushing away a rebel hair out of her face and he was staring at her in a way she had only seen in chick flicks and then his lips were on hers. The kiss was tender at first, it was as if he was asking for permission and then when she pushed herself towards him it became insisting and full of passion.

The kiss intensified within minutes and Joan found herself moaning against his lips when his hands found her waist.

Then, as quickly as it happened, they broke apart when they were brusquely interrupted by the ring of his phone. They merely stared at each other, breathing heavily and they slowly drifted apart suddenly very aware of what was happening between them. Joan was the first one who widened the space between them, immediately getting up when he reached for his phone and spoke to whoever was on the other line.

She walked quickly towards the stairs, not even bothering looking back for she knew he might be interested in something else. She never noticed how Sherlock's eyes followed every move she made.

2. Master Chef

Joan walked into the kitchen dragged by the delicious smell coming from it. She was starving, to be quite honest, and had made up her mind to make something to eat before the smell hit her nostrils. Now she was standing in the kitchen, watching Sherlock stir something in a frying pan while humming to an unfamiliar tune. He hadn't noticed her presence until she walked further in and when she stood next to him he merely smiled.

"What are you making?" She asked.

"An omelette." he responded. "I was a bit hungry, but I'm too lazy to make something bigger. Do you want a piece?"

"Yes. I'm starving."

"Go get a plate; this will be done in a minute."

She moved aside to fetch the required items with eagerness. She hadn't noticed how hungry she was until she smelled the food properly.

When she turned around to try and make her way towards Sherlock once again, she was suddenly surprised to find him in front of her. He murmured something about a spoon and a fork; she couldn't quite figure it out, because somehow her eyes had drifted towards his lips and the agitated rise and fall of his chest. It seemed to her like he was struggling with something she didn't know about, but she was now beginning to comprehend when she noticed his next move; he was moving towards her, his head had this gravitational pull she couldn't fight with and she instantly found herself moving towards him as well.

Before she could blink his lips were on hers and his hands were on the small of her back, pulling her a tiny bit closer than she was before. She tasted like tea and honey, she noticed, and his arms felt strong around her body.

She was melting into him, slowly, that is, until they were interrupted. The kettle boiled and Joan broke apart because the lack of air was starting to become a problem. Sherlock started at the annoying object with anger and a deep frown on his face. Joan took the opportunity to pull herself away from his grip and move away from him.

Suddenly she wasn't hungry, she was uncomfortable and unable to look at him in the eyes. Ashamed for what had happened she walked away, climbing the stairs two steps at a time.

Sherlock stood in the kitchen, angry and disappointed.

3. Early morning

Joan had woken up ridiculously early for some reason, and even though she had gone to bed late the night before she still woke up when the sun was barely up. She could have stayed in bed and she was planning to, but then the noise downstairs woke her even more till there was no point with staying there at all.

Five minutes later she was sitting on the kitchen counter, Sherlock had been kind enough to pour a cup of coffee when he saw her up and now he was making breakfast. Joan was watching with unexpected interest as he moved around it, oddly fascinated by the movement of his hands.

They talked, not about cases or murders or corpses, but about life. He told her things about his childhood, something he had never done before, and she told him about her life as a surgeon. It was one of those rare occasions where they could be honest with each other. For some reason she ended up laughing about something she said and he eyed her with amusement.

"You look cute when you laugh." he stated, out of the blue. Joan smiled as if he were just joking, but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn't.

"Oh please, of course I don't." she replied, shaking her head in denial.

"Yes, you do. Your eyes shine and your whole face seems to have a particular kind of glow. It's beautiful." he spoke.

"Well thank you." she told him, a warm smile on her face. Truth be told she was completely taken aback by his sweet words. No other man had said something like that before, and she never thought Sherlock would be the one to do so.

She didn't know what happened next. She didn't know who started everything if she had to be honest. All she knew was that seconds later she had her legs wrapped around his waist while he kissed her with all the passion she could ever imagine someone could make her feel.

It all ended too soon though for the both of them, with just the ring of his phone. He groaned, annoyed for the interruption but she, on the other hand, and was thankful it all ended, afraid that she might let herself carry away

She took the opportunity to move away from him while he grabbed the phone from his pocket and answered it. The only think she heard was Captain Gregson's name and a sigh from Sherlock's lips.

4. Frustration and sadness.

It had been a complicated case, at least to her but she was certain not to Sherlock, but it was her case. She had asked him not to interfere because she wanted to solve it on her own, without his help.

It had been two days already and she was getting more and more frustrated. It was as if she was getting nowhere, every time she found something important it turned out to be nothing more than a waste of energy.

That until that small piece of evidence led her to a suspect, which got the man arrested.

For only a day.

The evidence was not enough even though Joan's instincts told her he was the right guy. Even Sherlock thought so. She fought until she had no energy left for the man to be arrested again, but there was no point.

Now she felt frustrated, and sad too. All of her hard work had led nowhere and she was feeling like she was losing hope.

"It's not like you haven't been doing a good job." Sherlock told her, while she was hiding in her bedroom, too sad to even speak. "You made a mistake, everyone makes mistakes."

"There's a killer on the loose, Sherlock." she responded. "This isn't a tiny mistake, it's a huge one that could cause some serious damage."

"But it's not something you did. It's something someone else did. You, as the rest of us, are only trying to help in whatever we can."

"If I hadn't been so worried about doing a good job this would have never happened." Joan complained as sob escaped her lips and tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Come on, Watson, don't be sad." Sherlock told her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. One of the things he hated was seeing women cry, it didn't anger him instead it made him uncomfortable because he didn't know how to comfort them.

"I'm not sad, I'm angry with myself." she replied, wiping her tears angrily. "I feel so stupid…"

"Hey no! Don't say that, you're not stupid, Joan. You're a brilliant woman…" Sherlock responded quickly. She raised her head to look at him with a surprise look on her face. "What?"

"You called me Joan. You've never used my first name before."

"That is your name. And I think it's silly I call you by your last name when you have such a beautiful first name." Sherlock responded making her smile. "You see? You look beautiful when you smile. You don't have to be sad or angry when everyone makes mistakes, that doesn't make you a bad person. That makes you human."

"But I just feel so…helpless, you know? Like I could be doing so much more but instead I'm drowning in self-pity." She felt the tears coming to surface again and she wiped them away quickly. "I hate this…"

"No one said being a detective was gonna be easy."

"I know."

"Then cheer up and smile." he said and dropped a light kiss on her cheek.

She eyed him for a small fraction of a second, with fascination. He was so unlike the Sherlock she had met; so sweet, polite and even tender, that surprised her and mesmerized her at the same time.

His face was still very close to hers, he was now staring at her lips. Her intention was to move away, to put as much space between them as she could, but somehow she was pushing herself forwards. Now his lips were close enough so she could feel his warm breath against her own, until he kissed her. A soft peck that soon became a passionate kiss.

There was no point in denying how much she wanted this, but there was also no point in thinking this was right.

They were partners, friends, and colleagues. If she allowed herself to do this, to kiss him, she didn't know if their relationship would ever be the same again.

Then a few seconds later she pushed away, putting a hand on his chest feeling the erratic beating of his heart against her palm and quickly got up from her position on the bed, while Sherlock watched her in silence.

"This is wrong…" she whispered, standing a few feet away from Sherlock, a deep frown adorning his handsome face. "So wrong…"

"Joan…"

"I think you should leave." she told him, avoiding his gaze. "Please Sherlock, just leave."

He eyed her one more time before walking out of the room. Joan put a hand on her chest to stop the rapid beating of her heart.

5-An unpredictable situation

When Sherlock called her that morning to tell her his business at the station was going to take longer than he thought, she never imagined that little issue would take almost four hours. Now she was sitting on the couch, chewing het nails and glancing at her phone every five seconds. She could have called him, but she knew he didn't like to be interrupted when he was working on a case, so she decided to wait another five minutes.

But then those five minutes turned into twenty, then half an hour. She was losing her mind.

Until her phone rang. The ID showed Captain Gregson's name and immediately she felt uneasy, as if she could sense something had happened. Something bad.

All Joan could understand was: hostage and gun. The other words were fuzzy or maybe her mind refused to understand them.

Suddenly her world turned upside down, and she was panting to breathe.

"Joan? Are you there?" Gregson spoke on the other line. She was still holding the phone in her ear, but her other hand rested on her chest. She noticed her heart had begun a very erratic pace all of a sudden.

"Yes. I'm here." she responded in a whisper.

"We're doing everything we can." Gregson continued. "I can assure you, Sherlock will be safe in no time. We're making a deal as we speak, so there's no need for you to worry, okay?"

"How long has he been there?" Joan asked him. She panted slightly as she spoke. She decided there was no way she could stay at home and pretend nothing was happening out there. She needed to make sure he was okay, for her own sake.

She grabbed her missing shoe from underneath his desk and put it on as Gregson explained the whole situation. But then, out of the blue, he stopped. Joan's heart jumped inside her chest, she heard something in the background and then people screamed.

"Captain?" Joan called his name. He didn't respond as quickly as he did the first time, which scared her even more. If that was actually possible.

Another boom.

Followed by two more.

Then silence.

"Captain, what's happening?" Joan said anxiously. "Is Sherlock okay? Is he hurt?"

"Joan, I need you to stay calm, okay?" Gregson told her.

"Why? Why would I stay calm? Did something happen to Sherlock? Is he okay? Tell me…"

"He's gonna be taken to Angel of Mercy. I need you to meet me there."

The line went dead as he finished talking. For a brief second Joan was paralyzed, frozen on the spot, unable to process what was happening. The next thing she did was run towards the door, grabbing her keys and her jacket, trying as hard as she could not to cry.

The first person she saw was Bell, who smiled with sympathy and pity. Or was it sadness? She wasn't sure. Then Gregson, hands on his waist, talking to a doctor who immediately turned towards her when they noticed her walking in.

She felt as if she was watching a scene from a movie when the main character had been terribly hurt, and she guessed this was the part when they tell her the worst had happened.

Joan swallowed hard as she approached them.

"Joan." Gregson was the first one to speak.

"Where is he?" she asked him, trying to peek in one of the white rooms but she saw nothing. There was no sign of Sherlock.

"He's fine." Gregson responded.

"What?" she asked.

"I have no idea what happened inside that house, or how the hell he managed to tackle the guy and shoot him four times, but he did. That bastard. He scared the living hell out of us." Gregson explained

"Mr Holmes is fine." the doctor spoke. "He has a few scratches and bruises, but other than that he's perfectly healthy".

"Can I see him?" she asked, exchanging looks between Gregson and the doctor.

"Of course." the man responded. "Please follow me."

She took a deep breath and followed the man towards a different room. She sighed at the sight in front of her; Sherlock sitting on a bed, buttoning his shirt. He rose his head to look at her, a small warm smile peered on his lips to which she responded with equal amount of tenderness.

She took a few steps toward him, he followed her movements with his eyes, neither of them saying a word. The doctor said goodbye and walked out of the room, leaving them alone. Joan stated at him for a few seconds, then she slowly reached out to touch his face; he had a bruise on his right cheek and a small cut on his forehead. He was paler than usual and he looked tired, but she was happy there were no bullets or blood coming out of any part of his body, like she had initially thought. She was so grateful he was glaring at her, as if he was confused as ever because of her actions. Either way, confused and probably very sore, he leaned in when her palm covered his face, his skin feeling cold underneath her hand.

"I'm sorry I scared you." he whispered, still leaning into her hand. "Gregson told me you heard the gunshots."

"I did. I was on the phone with him when it happened." she told him.

"Sorry about that." he apologized again.

"It doesn't matter…" she whispered, taking two more steps towards him. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"Me too." he responded. "Is there any way we can go home? I don't wanna be here anymore."

"I'm pretty sure the doctor is ready to discharge you." she told him. "There's something I wanna do before we leave, though."

"What?"

She removed her hand from his face and covered the distance between them with a small peck on his lips. It was quick and short, nothing she could call romantic or lovingly. But then it was his turn, and that kiss was nothing like hers. She leaned into him as if her life depended on it, her arms quickly wrapping around his shoulders and his hands on her waist.

She kissed him for all the seconds she thought she'd lost him, for all the awful thoughts crossing her mind at the idea of living a life without him. But most importantly, she kissed him because she couldn't lie to herself any longer…she loved him. And for the way he was desperately trying to hold her, he loved her to.

Neither of them noticed a nurse walking in and then out as quickly as she could, mumbling to herself 'They're not supposed to do that here' and blushing slightly.

**The end**


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